


Gattino

by trashfortimmy



Series: Wandering Back To You [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Italy, M/M, Midnight, Moonlight, Oliver has all the feels and doesn't know what to do with them what's new, Oliver is confused, Romantic Fluff, Watching Someone Sleep, a literal ball of fluff, he's in love but doesn't know it yet, wandering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfortimmy/pseuds/trashfortimmy
Summary: I love Oliver, both the man and the name.Here, Oliver meets a cat named Oliver on one of his midnight ramblings through Crema. The two share a small moment and it helps settle Oliver's heart a little bit.When he returns to the villa, he just can't help himself and opens the door to Elio's bedroom. What he finds there leaves him breathless and a little bit more in love.





	Gattino

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in between the nosebleed and their midnight.
> 
> Here comes some angst, followed by a bit of fluff (literally)...

It was late.

The stars winking above in the night-black sky, the cicadas singing their midnight song. No one walked in the piazzetta, no hum of cars or motorbikes could be heard; the shop doors were closed, moonlight the only thing lighting the path ahead. A peace had settled over the town, all its residents tucked away in their beds, sound asleep.

Oliver was restless.

His usual spot on the rocks by the water hadn’t done its trick tonight; he found himself wandering the streets aimlessly as his mind spun in seemingly endless circles that always ended up back where they began. 

He tended to ramble at midnight, a disquiet settling over him the closer it got to the witching hour. 

It was easy to slap on a smile during the day, but at night Oliver found himself tired of pretending. There was an unrest that was easy to hide from while the sun shone, while he had business to attend to, his book, his poker, volleyball. During the day he could distract himself with various things - deep conversations with Pro in his office, lounging in _heaven_, drudgery with lunch and dinner guests.

But now, in darkness, all those things he’d pushed down and out of his mind came rushing back to the surface and refused to be ignored. He didn’t know what to do with them, except try to exorcise them from his mind by moving from place to place. Without a destination in mind, he meandered along any path his body led him down. While his body seemed to be making progress moving through space, one step at a time, his thoughts were stuck in a loop, convoluted as ever.

He felt uneasy.

What was waiting for him at the villa made him nervous, but what was waiting for him at home was even worse. He’d come to Italy to avoid the latter, to prolong the time before things would happen, before everything spun out and Oliver lost a little bit more control. 

He snapped out of his thoughts, his eyes suddenly focusing on the path under his feet. He’d been to this spot before, and not just in recent days but not so long ago that very night. Oliver realized he’d been walking in circles, the movements of his body through space echoing the circuitous path of his thoughts through his mind.

He stopped, staring down at the cobblestone street and having no idea what to do next. He didn’t know where he could go to find peace within his mind, or what could be the key to his problems at this late hour. It seemed like nothing would get resolved tonight, no matter where he went, how much he problem-solved, or what he vowed to do to change things.

Suddenly, his ears perked up at a familiar noise.

He listened closely; the noise was nearby, but not close enough to hear clearly. Why did it sound so familiar? And what did he know it from?

He followed the sound as it rang out into the night at regular intervals, his feet taking him closer as if he were drawn by memory, by recognition.

The sound became clearer as he moved ever nearer, as did the reason why he knew it so well.

“Oliver!”

He froze on the spot, his eyes wide and muscles tense. Who could be calling out to him at such a late hour? And how did this person know he was near? Perhaps they had seen him wandering the exact same route in the hours just before and wanted to catch him on his next go-round. He thought of all the people he knew in town, all those who he’d befriended and won over with his easy American charm. But he couldn’t think of why any of those familiar townspeople would be out now, looking for him, no reason they’d want to talk to him that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

“Oliver?” 

The voice called again, sweetly this time. The Italian lilt made his name sound exotic, made him feel like he could reinvent himself. The _r_ was softer and more drawn out, the syllables warm and blending together rather than standing apart in sharp contrast. It made him listen closer, made his ear soften, remade him from the inside out.

“Oliver….”

The voice called again, followed by a series of kissing noises, a soft pursing and smacking of lips several times in a row.

Now surely that couldn’t be about him. Perhaps someone was calling their lover home, who had wandered off into the night after a quarrel, now being gently lured back into bed with sweet kisses and soft words.

Or perhaps the voice was calling out for him specifically, having seen him in the town and knowing of his nightly wanderings. Oliver’s nerves jangled at the thought; being the object of some stranger’s affection who wished to bed him made his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. So far he had avoided most advances that had come his way, his charming smile serving as what he hoped was a gentle rejection.

“Oliver.”

The owner of the voice calling into the night still hadn’t seen him yet. They still didn’t know he was there, lurking around the corner waiting for a sign that they were really calling for him. Fueled by curiosity, Oliver began to move, but the next thing he heard made him stop.

“Gattino...vieni a casa, dolcezza.”

Ah.

Something brushed against his ankle, tickling his skin and startling him slightly.

Oliver looked down to see a black cat nuzzling his lower leg. White patches of fur dotted the cat’s otherwise midnight-black body, letting it be seen more easily in the dark. The cat’s back was slightly arched as it rubbed on Oliver, white-tipped tail swishing elegantly back and forth. Little furry paws padded over Oliver’s foot as the cat moved back and forth to smooth its entire body, from ears to tail, against him.

This was obviously a very friendly cat, rubbing itself adoringly all over a complete stranger. Perhaps the cat was just like him, stalking through the town close to midnight, trying to sort out its thoughts, wandering away from its home in search of something. Maybe Oliver and his kitty counterpart had come close to crossing paths in the otherwise deserted town streets some other night, but had never actually encountered each other until now. Tonight, they were just two souls meeting, their common nighttime activities and shared name bringing them together.

Oliver bent down to get closer to cat-Oliver and reached out a hand, palm open, into which the cat immediately pushed its head. The cat’s fur was soft and its body warm, and the gesture of affection warmed Oliver too. Oliver began scratching the cat’s head lightly with his fingertips, tentatively at first until the cat closed its eyes into slits and tilted its head into the touch. 

Now that Oliver is closer to the cat he hears it purring. A smile finds its way onto his face, his body feeling warm and fuzzy. 

With his hands still scratching lovingly at the cat’s head, his feline namesake suddenly opens its eyes and stares straight into his. They share a moment of connection, of understanding, before the cat gently dislodges Oliver’s hand and slinks away. Oliver watches it go, the white tip of its tail the last thing he sees before it rounds the corner home. He stands, breathing easier now, and turns to head in the opposite direction.

Arriving back at the villa, his feet carry him swiftly through the entryway, up the stairs two at a time. He only comes to a rest in front of the doors joining his room to that of a certain raven-haired boy. He presses his ear to the wood, listening for the turning of a page, the soft scratch of his pencil across staff paper, the sound of his breath. He hears nothing.

He pushes the door open a crack, expecting to find either a very surprised Elio or complete darkness. He convinces himself that if he finds the former, and the boy is unexpectedly awake, he will pretend to be mistaken, too tired or too drunk to know the right way around the room he’s occupied for only a handful of weeks. But he finds instead something he didn’t have time to mentally prepare himself for: a peaceful, sleeping Elio, stretched out across the mattress of his twin bed, sheets twisted at his feet, midnight-black curls splayed across the pillow. A beam of moonlight illuminates him from nose to belly button and additionally lights the way for Oliver to see his closed eyes, dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, and pale lower belly moving up and down with each soft breath.

As he watches Elio breathe in sleep, he feels all the air rush out of his own body. He can’t think of a single thing but the vision of the boy in front of him, revealed to him by a tiny sliver through the open door. He daren’t push it open any further, afraid to disturb the absolute perfection of what his eyes currently behold. 

With the boy asleep, Oliver lets his eyes linger over each part of his body he could clearly see. His gaze moves systematically from just under his chin, down his long neck, skimming over his torso and flitting side to side as he takes in his thin arms, delicate wrists and fingers, elegant waistline. Once he reaches his hips his breath stutters and he stops for a moment, afraid he’d given himself away. Hearing the boy’s next unchanged breath, he cautiously proceeds with his surreptitious exploration, giving half a thought to what is hidden underneath the boy’s thin boxer shorts and continuing down his legs. His fingers twitch at the sight of them, wanting to reach out and touch them again like he had before.

Before his body moves of its own accord and takes the boy’s slim legs into his hands once again, his gaze moves back up to the boy’s face, the moonlight now slicing just below his nose to illuminate his red-rose mouth. All around it the other features are glowing softly, as if shining from within; all of them lovely. Soft curls, darling little nose, those cheeks that blushed so nicely for him, even the space between his brows felt very dear. Those green eyes that he could sense on him always, even when they weren’t near, even when they were closed. 

The longer he stands there, the less he wishes to leave. _Let me gaze upon him always_, he thinks. He had never been so content to stand there and watch someone, never in his life.

Oliver had a feeling like he was waiting for something, time ticking by torturously slow, its arrival certain but the exact date unknown. He didn’t know if he was ready for it, but he was too invested now to stop waiting altogether. He could wait a little longer.

He tears his eyes from the crack in the door and closes it slowly. Moving back into his assigned room, he crawls into bed. A bit more at ease, he falls effortlessly into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm highly allergic to cats, so this is my way of fulfilling my own fantasy of having one named Oliver.
> 
> I don't know Italian, so blame Google translate if anything is wrong.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading <3  
xx


End file.
